One little duckling unlike any other ducks
decided to wander and trusted on her luck.
She came upon a green-covered field
where roses and daises convened.
Three rabbits came, the garden they lay claim.
Little ducky pleaded to stay
they thought, ‘Well maybe just a delay.’

Three rabbits and a duck laughing all throughout
singing, dancing day in and day out.
No more worms but veggie norms.
No more quacking but grinding.
No more swimming just hopping.

‘You’re leaving today,’ declared the rabbit king;
three words that changed everything.
‘I thought you liked me here,’ was her rebuttal.
‘We are different creatures you and me.
I’m a rabbit can’t you see?’
‘All creatures are equal I agree.’

‘I have hind legs you have webbed feet.’
‘Well, that’s not very hard to cheat.’

‘You grow feathers instead of furs.’
‘Why, I have a heart just like yours!’

Dreams shattered in front of her
the little duckling wept in despair.
‘I’ll go back to where I came from
I can’t stay where I’m not welcome.’

‘In this world of judging eyes
I didn’t escape the stereotypes.
Let me tell you one thing I learned:
Love and friendship can transcend
anything if you will
But guess I was naive,
real friendship we can’t achieve.
I wish you well as I bid farewell,
in your place I can no longer dwell.’

Poems are as hard to write as they are to understand. I hate how those perfectly arranged words take you and leave you wanting for more. You write them for days, read them in minutes and get you thinking, even disturbed, for weeks.

I don’t like poems, or poets for that matter. Poets are insane. The metre, the phrasing, the rhythm, the verses put together are just too much of a hard work. And nobody even pays attention! Still, they keep doing the same thing.

With his finished product of well-selected words, the poet intellectually lures you to his world like playing a trick without you even noticing it. And I don’t like that cleverness.

I’d rather enjoy a comic book with all the illustration to not mislead its reader. On a perfect sunny day in the park, I’d rather pick up a plainspoken composition that does not require too much engaging. I’d rather not cultivate my imagination or my critical thinking. I’d rather not appreciate the beauty, power and mystery that is in every carefully thought of form of poetry.